Dear Tragedy...(one shot)
No, this is not my first story. This is just my new account.
Dear Tragedy,
I woke up. He wasn't there. His scent filled the air though. The unsweetended scent of
tobacco and axe. Then memories flooded back to me. Tears slowly filled up my eyes
I'm never waking up again so I'll never have to find out what you did. Each day it's
harder to pretend.
I pushed aside the weak feeling, sitting up, and rubbing my face with my palms. His
picture, still sat on the cabinet, I took a quick glance at it, before shredding it into
pieces. A small amount of relief escaped from me, as I didn't have to see that picture
anymore.
His friends and family should have taught him more about love.
I ran fingers through my hair, and stood up from my laying postion, and searched through
my closet for something to wear. I settled upon a pair of jeans, and a tank top. I ran a
brush through my hair, and stared at my reflection. Ashamed.
Recounting pages in a book. That I'd torn out ashamed that one day you'd look.
I stared at the reflection for a while, unsure that it was still me, staring back, as
tears once again formed in my eyes, the thoughts of him came back. I slid down the
bathroom wall, holding my head in my hands, as tears poured down my face.
But being alone wasn't half as bad as being obsessed with
a breath taker, a smile faker, but these years alone have eaten me alive.
He was with her. All over her. She was with him. All over him. I was just there. Shocked.
Scared. Confused. Upset. Pissed off. The list goes on. I wanted to scream. I wanted to
cry. I wanted vengance, but mostly, mostly I wanted to escape.
I never had anybody, but being alone wasn't half as bad as being obsessed
I regained myself, telling myself, "I'll be okay." The door opened. The apartment door
opened. He was home here. I stayed in the bathroom, listening to him shuffle around the
apartment, gathering all his stuff. I glanced at my finger, the large ring hung loosely
around my finger, I ripped it off my finger, chucking it down the small hallway.
Afraid that once you did you'd really know how it felt to be
a sucker on a string that you dragged around wherever you'd go.
He cheated. There was no forgiveness in that. He broken every promise he'd made. He'd
flushed down everything he once had, down the toilet. I'd never forgive him. Never forgive
him.
He played me like I was a toy. Told me I was his one and only. His only true love. His
only real relationship. He was happy, but apperently, that was a bunch of bull.
I heard him slam the door behind him, as I took a deep breath, and walked into the kitchen
pulling the newspaper closer to myself. I needed to escape.
Dear Tragedy, I never had anybody